


flowers uncurl in the garden

by ElasticElla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: “Can I help you Lovegood?”The girl beams, eyes too big and bright to look human. “Yes.”Tracey sighs when no more words are forthcoming. “Withwhat?”





	flowers uncurl in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> title from corinne bailey rae's green aphrodisiac \o/
> 
> as always with my magical works, for the brightest star in my sky katie. i do hope you enjoy this one love <3

Tracey Davis spent the first five years at Hogwarts perfecting how to blend into the scenery. Half of her house is made up of pureblood supremacists and the other half enjoys waking up in the morning far too much to voice otherwise. (Her mother called it cowardice, and admittedly neither she nor her father have been completely transparent with her about the state of affairs in the wizarding world. Admittedly, some days she agrees.)

She studies hard, has a solid E average, and earns more points than she loses. After a few nasty fingernail hexes in her second year, her house as a whole ignores her. She appreciates the mutual silence far more than her younger self could have ever understood. There’s a safety in being insignificant, in not being close to anyone.

So when a fifth year Ravenclaw decides to sit at their table, right across from her with a huge smile, drawing more than a few curious stares, Tracey isn’t pleased.

“Can I help you Lovegood?”

The girl beams, eyes too big and bright to look human. “Yes.”

Tracey sighs when no more words are forthcoming. “With _what_?”

“Oh! Yes, I need a charms tutor. Flitwick suggested I find someone outside the house.”

“And you thought a selfish slimey snake would be your best option?”

Luna cocks her head to the side, but doesn’t agree giving Tracey an opening to leave nor does she start stammering bullshit. “In exchange, there’s a book you may borrow as long as you help me.”

Tracey rolls her eyes, only has a few minutes before Herbology, and this is beginning to get sad. “Look Lovegood, I’m sure some raven would love to help a fellow lost chick-”

The girl pulls out _Magick of Creation_ and Tracey’s mouth snaps shut.

The book is worth more than her home, only six ever created and none duplicated. It’s said to have more than the usual anti-duplication charms, a memory curse that triggers should you attempt to rerecord any of it. Tracey still thinks that’s garbage, a rumor to keep quills still, but she wouldn’t test it.

She looks up at Luna, the too big smile back on her lips. “The flamenco faeries told me you’d like this one.”

“….right. I’m going to class. Do Thursday evenings work for you? Library?”

“I’d rather learn outside if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” she agrees, and Luna hands her the book. Even with the heavy weight in her hands, she can’t believe this is real. Flipping open to the index, she still expects it to be a joke somehow, eyes skimming down the chapter titles, excitement building in her gut.

“Wonderful, oh this will be just like having a friend!” Luna exclaims, standing up. And Tracey doesn’t know what to say to _that_ , Luna thankfully walking away. Tracey grabs an apple and rushes out to the greenhouses- is certainly going to be late.

(Not even the five lost points can dim her mood, a heavy thrilling weight in her bookbag.)

.

Tracey doesn’t dare bring the tome out until she’s alone in the dorm, curtains spelled shut and soundproofed behind her. _Magick of Creation_ is without a doubt, the most beautiful book she’s ever beheld. The cover itself is made of raised vines, deep green and blue, looking almost water-like at certain angles and somehow feeling both like plant and liquid all at once. Giddy, Tracey flips to the first page, ready to spend the next twelve hours reading the whole thing. (Not as a trick, she’ll need to read the book multiple times to commit it to memory. Though she can’t say the idea didn’t occur to her.)

_Dear reader- you hold my life’s work in your hands. And I do wish it is your hands, that these pages aren’t locked away in some stuffy library that flips a page a day. To curse these pages to only respond to human touch seemed cruel to any future evolution- not to mention egotistical in the highest order. There are indeed many curses upon these words and the knowledge they impart. For your livelihood, all you gain is yours alone. The only way to share it is by sharing the book._

_Now onto the reason you opened this book- creation magics. Breaking Gamp’s Law, alchemy through a wand rather than focus, and spell creation itself. To begin, you must firmly hold in mind what you most wish to learn. While most, if not all, of my knowledge is contained within these pages, to allow any reader to meander at their own pace would ensure the fewest amount of practitioners, and fewer still masters of any art._

_Once you have truly decided upon your path, the blank page beside this one will fill._

_~Kalie Kaliff_

Tracey closes her eyes, imagines herself in her childhood bedroom turning everything to gold. To be so filthy rich that even Greengrass tries sucking up to her and Parkinson stops dropping not-even-slightly-subtle barbs about her muggle mother.

Smiling, she opens her eyes, but the page remains blank.

“Alchemy, teach me alchemy,” she tries aloud.

Briefly a cursive, _no_ , appears before fading. Tracey huffs, closing the book and laying down. It’s only a minor obstacle, she’ll figure the damn book out. Briefly she considers that the book is a hack, a trap to keep her tutoring Luna all year, but the girl seems far too honest for that.

With a sigh, Tracey starts her History homework. Tomorrow she has a free block and she’ll figure the book out then.

.

The problem Tracey discovers fairly quickly into her hour free after lunch the following day, is that it isn’t so much figuring the book out but figuring herself out.

What does she want?

The question’s deceptively simple, though the first thing that comes to mind- security- isn’t right. To be able to provide for herself indefinitely and her family, to be able to buy all the pretty frivolous things she’s always tried to ignore. It sounds like a lovely and decadent life, though apparently it isn’t what she truly wants. (And doesn’t that make her a terrible daughter- she could ease many of her parents’ hardships, if only she were better.)

What _does_ she want?

She wants magic to feel magical. When she was younger, her mother often read her muggle bedtime stories with magic that was nothing like the mundane cleaning charms her father did around the house. She wants to capture that feeling, she wants the world to sing with it.

To be enthralled, to be-

The book’s vine-waves are moving quickly beneath her hands, and Tracey opens the text. Cursive appears on the page, and Tracey giggles, it’s working!

_Embodying the World Around You – A Guide to Shaping and Feeling Your Space_

_Before you cast such spells, or even learn the theory of them, you must master meditation. If you do not know the limits of your own mind, or how to quiet and center it, your soul **will** be lost to the elements. This is not to say you must master occulemency, you do not need to compartmentalize your emotions- indeed if you already do so it will be harder to do this craft._

_When you are prepared, go outside to a place you will be undisturbed and feel at peace._

Tracey shuts the book with a groan- great, more homework before she can get to the good stuff. The dorm door opens, heavy footsteps crossing to Bulstrode’s closet. Dammit, somehow her free’s already over.

.

Early October means it’s just nippy enough for people to stay inside after dinner, and Tracey’s thankful as she sits by the lake. It isn’t until she sits down that she realizes they never specified a time or place besides outside, and Tracey’s wondering the fastest way to get a note to her when she spots a blonde head skipping her way.

“Good evening professor,” Luna says, sitting down across from her.

Tracey snorts, “There’s no need for that- I’m not, y’know.”

Luna’s head turns, looking around her almost. “Of course you are, you will be teaching me. Unless you changed your mind?”

“No, no- I mean yes, I’ll be tutoring you.”

“Great!”

“Should we be focusing on OWL preparation or…?”

“Oh yes. With the Croix conspiracy, I need to get an acceptable.”

Tracey sighs, already regretting her question, “What is the conspiracy?”

“The ministry is afraid of anyone who shows too much knowledge or power. Croix created a magical beetle to eat bits of wizards’ cores.”

“Uh huh.”

Luna nods rapidly, carrot earrings bouncing, “Don’t you find it interesting that teenagers can duel adults and walk away?”

A chill settles on Tracey’s shoulders, the cute ridiculous theory suddenly more conceivable than she wants to acknowledge. “Alright, aiming for an acceptable. How is your banishing charm?”

And just like that they slip into their first tutoring session, a revision of fourth year spells that are likely to show up on the OWL. Overall Luna does pretty well, her main issue being that she doesn’t care about wand movements. And not in a point-casting type of way, more of in a whimsical designs that shouldn’t work yet do- if not to a full effect.

.

It takes a month before she’s ready to open _Magick of Creation_ again. In that time, the tutoring sessions have bumped up to whenever they’re both free, two or three or four times a week. Parkinson makes comments about how she’s clearly trying to knock up and marry up with Looney Tunes, and Tracey bites back a reply that precious pureblood Pansy shouldn’t even know what that show is.

In a month, it _is_ just like having a friend, and she’s been around Luna too much, her mind slipping into lackadaisical circles. Her mind itself she’s mastered, or come close enough to anyways with meditation. She took four books out of the library to make sure she’s doing it right, isn’t willing to gamble her consciousness or whatever ‘being lost to the elements’ means.

There’s a quiet space by the lake, behind where the first year boats are kept, hiding her from the world. Not that she expects many people to be wandering around the lake in November, the wind causing goosebumps even under her warming charm and cloak.

_Begin with a small plant. A blade of grass would be ideal. Cup your hands around the grass, do not touch it, and focus entirely on the grass. When you have it, push your magic into the grass and cause it to grow as high as you can._

_Once you are able to will your magic through another, you must work on your flow._

It sounds simple enough, and Tracey picks a slightly taller stem of grass to keep in mind, cupping her hands around it. All of her attention is on the blade, and she imagines her magic going from her to the grass and shooting up.

Nothing happens.

Again and again and again, and the grass doesn’t so much as twitch.

Frustration builds up enough that she needs to take a breath, recenter her mind. It’s a new type of magic, it shouldn’t be surprising that she doesn’t instantly get it. She thinks of the grass itself, the chilly breeze upon it, slim roots aching for moisture, and tiny face to the sun. She is the grass, wants to stretch and grow up and up and up.

Magic bursts from her, Tracey instantly dropping the connection and watching the grass sprout up a meter. It’s amazing and gorgeous and silly looking, and then horrifically not, withering away in a blink, dead matter falling to the ground.

Tracey frantically opens the book, flips to the next page.

_If you’re reading this page- congratulations you didn’t become a plant! You did most likely kill one though, flooding its system with magic. When casting through any live object or animal, there is always the chance to kill it through too much power. For this reason, you must learn to control how much magic you allow out of yourself. The more you cast through, the higher your skill must be. It will likely take years before you can immerse yourself fully in an area as the green witches of old practiced._

_Only once you are able to sprout a new branch on a tree and bloom a small wildflower, should you continue._

Tracey shuts the book with a yawn, is absolutely drained from the grass adventures. She stumbles back inside and to her dorm room with a heavy glamour, is not in the mood to be bothered.

.

They’re taking a break from the Refilling Charm- Luna always insists on a small break every half-hour, and Tracey’s given up on trying to do anything on her own, there’s always an interesting comment right about-

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the book,” Luna says.

Tracey shouldn’t still be surprised by Luna just knowing things, yet her eyebrow’s still involuntarily arch. “What?”

Luna gestures to her hair, “There are less splindering spoths around you.”

“Right, what do uh, the splindering things do?”

“They don’t do anything, they are. They fly around people who are unsure.”

“Mhmm,” Tracey hums noncommittally.

“I think the real reason for Kaliff’s text is to help people choose a life. She complained quite a bit that she didn’t have the sight, couldn’t imbue any divination into her book.”

“How long did you read it?” Tracey asks, has had the book barely two months and can’t imagine returning it soon.

“An afternoon, she allowed me to read some to the Raklepuffs in the garden.”

Tracey doesn’t even know where to start, disbelief coming up hot, “An _afternoon_?”

Luna smiles, leans back and looks up to the sky. “I already knew what I wanted.”

Tracey wants to ask, but it’s a rather personal question and she isn’t sure how she’d react if Luna turned and asked her the same.

“A friend.”

The words come like a kick to the gut, and Tracey reaches across to her, cupping a shoulder.

“Luna, I am your friend.”

She giggles, pale gold hair shimmering and tickling the back of her hand. “I know.”

.

By February, Luna’s ridiculously prepared for her OWLs that are still months away. Tracey isn’t done with the book yet, not even the next step- can bloom a snowdrop but not a new branch- and insists on continuing to help Luna with her studies. Luna says it isn’t necessary, but Tracey can’t accept infinitely borrowing such a rare book with no return.

(‘We’re _friends_ , it truly does not bother me.’ ‘It… it feels I dunno. How about we do Potions? Snape’s a rotten teacher.’ ‘Okay.’)

Potions turns into Transfiguration into History into Astronomy into everything the month before her OWLs. It isn’t all one-sided studying either, Tracey’s surprised how much the revision helps with her current classes.

While Luna takes her last OWL, carefully aiming for an acceptable, Tracey sits in her spot behind the boat shed. It’s still deserted as before, but in the warmer weather she can hear her fellow students on the other side.

There’s a large oak tree, and Tracey’s been focused on it all afternoon slowly feeding a single spot magic. The trick in creating a branch is intent and patience, and when she finally opens her eyes with a smile, nearly all her magic depleted, there’s a brand new branch. It isn’t over or under sized like the others, and she already knows it won’t crumple up into nothingness. There’s a sudden gluttonous desire to chop it off and form a new wand, surely her own magic made wood would make for a most promising companion- but she spots Luna wandering closer and waves.

“You look beautiful when you do magic,” Luna says, sitting beside her.

“Thanks?”

Luna shakes her head, “You always look beautiful. But there’s something in your smile when you create.”

Tracey’s cheeks burn, and if she were a better slytherin, she’d turn this around on Luna. (It isn’t that- it’s that she’s let her guard down, and that’s almost worse to admit, even to herself.)

“Oh,” Luna says, pleasant surprise crossing her face. “I thought it was just me.”

And before Tracey can pull two thoughts together, Luna is leaning into her space and kissing her. The air itself hums with magic, and Luna tastes even sweeter than the tiny cakes she’s always nibbling on. When their lips part, Luna stays close, Tracey drawing shapes on her back.

She smiles, can’t grin wide enough to capture her happiness, “No, it isn’t just you.”


End file.
